Lyle
Winter road salt specks my windshield with stars.
Old Lyle wipes the glass with a rag,
breathing on it here and there for moistening.
This is the only full service station left in town.
Lyle rubs harder to get the last streaks.
“Is that any better?” Though the glass is now
completely clear, Lyle smiles at me through stars.
—Thomas R. Smith, River Falls, WI
